Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2)

by J. R. Geoghan

  The Premier—he had seemed…a lot like Axxa, if Halloran had to be honest. More formal, older but still with the careful appraising attitude that radiated from the younger Prax. Axxa hadn’t become part of Halloran’s crew despite shared action. He had made a contribution, to be sure, but the divide between human and Prax seemed as wide as ever. Halloran looked at Kendra. Especially with her. She was a product of this century and all its violence. Hatred.

  As if hearing him, Kendra paused in her pacing close to Halloran and put a hand on the wall next to him, coming close. “Aren’t you worried about where they’re taking us?” She asked with an edge of frustration.

  He regarded her impassively. “Of course.”

  “So?”

  His brow twitched. “I came here to find answers, Kendra. I intend to.”

  “The archive, yes. I remember. But we’re prisoners.” She tilted her head and her black hair spilled onto a shoulder as she emphasized her words. Halloran blinked, some of his impassiveness lost in her dark eyes and closeness.

  He held up a hand with a lowered chin to ward her off. “We aren’t done here yet. Let it play out.”

  She kept her proximity. “You are a fish out of water, aren’t you.”

  “Very much so. I’ve been running off instinct for a while now.”

  She exhaled and lifted her eyes to his with a half-smile. “So what are your instincts telling you now?”

  He took an extra few seconds to answer. “That we’re close to a breakthrough.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Is that instinct or wishful thinking, Captain?”

  He leaned in close to her and whispered flatly. “The Captain is always right.”

  She straightened and pushed off the wall with a frown. “With the Prax nothing can be trusted. Nothing.”

  The lift finally slowed its rise and stopped. Brown was up and the others alert as the door slid open and the Prax stepped out. The aliens motioned for them to follow.

  This new level was low-ceilinged and the corrosion less apparent. Walls were painted some kind of tan color and the floor had a pattern to it. On a whim Halloran bent and touched the pattern. “Huh.”

  Reyes stamped. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say this was carpet, sir.”

  “I think you’re right, Chief.”

  Brown was looking around. “This place is weird, sir.”

  The guards were pushing them to move so they did. The hall ran around the station—circling the central hub Halloran had seen from below, if he had to guess. Doors passed on both sides, all closed. No labels presented themselves.

  “I feel like we’re in an office building back home, sir,” offered Yeoman Flagler as she fidgeted.

  Halloran nodded but said nothing.

  After it seemed they would circumnavigate the station given how far they had walked, the leading guards paused at a large double door and one opened it cautiously. Satisfied, he stepped in and his partner waved Halloran to follow.

  The room that lay in front of them was…amazing.

  The ceiling was at least thirty feet high, and at the far end of the roughly hundred-foot on-a-side space was an immense glass wall displaying a mind-blowing view of the planet below. Halloran heard someone’s sharp intake of breath behind him as the group followed him in.

  It was impressive.

  He felt drawn into the place, tearing his eyes from the view to take in the rest of the surroundings. It was a lounge, with cushioned couches scattered in groups around it. He saw a lone guard standing just inside to entrance.

  “Captain, look.” Reyes was pointing.

  At the one side of the room was a bar. It looked almost real—like a twenty-first century one. It was long, perhaps thirty feet. Behind that bar was a man—a human. He was in the act of pouring a bottle but had stopped mid-motion to stare open-mouthed at them.

  The Prax who had come in first took the inside post in relief of the prior guard. Then the others stomped out and closed the door loudly. Halloran matched stares with the guard, who kept a stony face beneath his visor.

  Reyes was approaching the bar. “Who are you?” he asked the man.

  The man had recovered and was finishing his drink. He leaned forward on the bar with wide eyes. “I am Telos. And you…you are a ghost, I assume? An apparition?”

  The Cuban snorted. “Hardly.” He turned to Halloran who was now walking over with the rest. “Sir, permission to pour myself a stiff one.”

  Halloran shrugged. “When in Rome, Chief.”

  The man’s face had gone pale. Halloran held out a hand. “Captain—.”

  “—Thomas Halloran.” The man finished in a high-pitched voice. “My God.” He looked genuinely scared. He looked at Halloran’s hand as if it were about to bite him.

  Reyes had selected a bottle and was looking at the label. He nodded at Halloran while glancing at the man. “Not good manners, old man.”

  With reluctance changing to resignation he took Halloran’s hand and grasped it. His strong grip surprised Halloran. “Telos, proprietor of this archive.”

  Halloran held his grip. “You know me.”

  “No—I mean, not really. I…I know of you.” He shook his head defensively.

  “Why?” Halloran released the man and placed his hands on the bar.

  “Sir?” Bruce Brown was hefting a bottle as a question. Halloran nodded, quickly turning back to the man Telos.

  “You drink, Captain?” The man’s eyes shifted from one corner to the other nervously.

  “Bourbon and water, if you have it.” Halloran suddenly wanted the drink. He waited until Telos had filled the glass and passed it to him. “Now tell me.”

  Telos looked at the others. Kendra in particular. He addressed her. “You’re not with them.”

  She leaned on the bar next to Halloran. “I most certainly am. And I know of you. My father—.”

  “—Is Admiral Kendall of Coloran,” Telos finished.

  Reyes snorted again from his seat nearby. “Do you always do that?”

  “How do you know that?” Kendra demanded.

  Telos spread his hands. “Captain, your reputation precedes you. Struve Six? The Goliath? As well, I’ve known your father since we were young together in the service. Many years ago. Did you know, I actually transited on the Goliath once during the eridani campaign? I was a fresh recruit at the time.” He looked over at Djembe who stood beyond Reyes. “You, sir, served as well in those days unless I miss my guess.”

  Djembe watched him with narrowed eyes but said nothing.

  Halloran lifted his drink with one hand while he lightly pounded on the bar with the other. “You haven’t answered my question, Telos.”

  The old man turned back to him. “No, I have not. A word alone, Captain?”

  Halloran set his drink down without having tried it. “Now would be good.”

  Telos sat him down in front of the massive wall of glass. As Telos lowered himself into an adjoining soft chair he leaned forward, elbows on knees. Halloran had noticed his dress. “You’re wearing blue jeans,” he observed as he watched the old man settle in.

  “The fact you even know what they are astounds me, Captain.”

  “Why?”

  The man waved a hand at the planet below. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Perses system was once a thriving hub of activity during the first expansion. After the war with the Prax broke out, the high command decided that this system was too far toward the enemy-controlled systems and pulled everyone back. Once the battle of Struve System was over, the Prax scare drove the rest of the colonists toward Coloran.” He patted his knee. “That’s when I brought some other wounded veterans over to claim this station and the archive, which the Command in its infinite wisdom had decreed wasn’t ‘necessary material’ worth relocating. Been here ever since.” He puffed and watched Halloran with a slight grin.

  “So the archive is real? It’s here?”

  “Oh, yes. This station is the single largest repository of human artifacts outside of Eart
h itself, which I hear has suffered greatly in the last century of occupation. That occurred several years before I took command of Telos.”

  Halloran wiped some dust off his knee. “So about me…”

  “Admiral Kendall requested information on a Captain Thomas Halloran, United States Navy, circa 2000 to 2050. Any military documentation or imagery. News stories, etc.”

  Halloran was leaning forward. “And you found something in the archive?”

  Telos didn’t look at him but kept his face toward the space vista. “499.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One more year—less than a year—and we arrive at a new century.”

  Halloran leaned forward. “You’re saying this is the year 499?”

  “Precisely. But they changed the dating system. For you and your people, it would be 2499. At least I think so.” Telos looked at him with sadness on his face. “The last turn of the century was one of celebration across the light years from Earth to Coloran. Humanity was at peace, and the stars were being explored. I was fourteen. Five years later the Prax attacked Pelenam Station and killed all forty thousand inhabitants. This turn of the century, the war rages on.”

  Halloran perked up. “Wait…that means you’re over a hundred.”

  The old man smiled lightly. “Of course.”

  Halloran did more math in his head. “470 years. We’ve jumped 470 years.”

  Telos nodded slowly. “Your photograph and military record. Nothing detailed since most of that goes too far back. Perhaps in a bunker buried somewhere in what’s left of the old United States.” He looked off wistfully.

  “That all you found on me?”

  “I found the news stories in the communications records.”

  “Of what?” Halloran felt a dread knotting in his gut.

  “Oh, your promotion to Captain. Then, in 2029…”

  “My family. The accident.”

  Telos nodded. “May 13th, 2029. Tacoma, Washington.”

  Halloran flinched. “You do you remember that?”

  “It’s what I do.” Telos shrugged, staring at Halloran. “So it really is you. I was still wondering…”

  “Wondering what?” Halloran wished he had brought the bourbon over with him.

  “Never mind.” Telos leaned forward. “You disappeared on August 21st, 2029, along with your entire warship and crew from Pearl Harbor, state of Hawaii. On board your ship were several foreign diplomats.”

  Halloran sat back with an exhalation. “That’s right. We ended up here. The Prax.” His voice hardened.

  Telos whistled. “Unbelievable. They possess time travel technology.”

  “They do. At least one-way.”

  “Your ship was armed with advanced twenty-first century weapons of incredible destruction. These were, logically, the target of their project? The Prax are nothing if not ingenious in destructive ways.”

  Halloran nodded. “I need to get back. To stop them.”

  “You do. But I don’t see how. Time travel is beyond my feeble mind.”

  Halloran frowned. “What?”

  Telos looked confused for a moment. “Umm. You wish to return to stop the war, yes?”

  “What war? I want to get back to Earth, save the crew I left behind and stop the Prax from using the weapons against the humans.”

  “Oh.” Telos’ eyes were lowered for a long minute while Halloran stewed and gazed out the at the magnificent view of the planet. Now the nearest Prax warship was sliding into view as the station rotated.

  “Captain.”

  He awoke from his reverie. “Yes.”

  “I need to tell you something. Perhaps it will be useful in some way, perhaps not, but you are clearly a man who leads and understands the need for those in command to possess all the facts.”

  Halloran leaned toward him. “Go ahead.”

  Telos cleared his throat. “When I was researching your name and saw the name of your last command—the USS Bonhomme Richard—something struck a memory in me. When I found the record of your disappearance, it all came together.”

  “What?” Halloran was growing impatient.

  “This…this is difficult to tell.” Telos swallowed, then lifted his eyes to meet Halloran’s. “But the disappearance of your ship caused the Great War which destroyed much of Earth in 2030.”

  Chapter 36

  Outside The Perimeter

  Rat City, Earth

  Terry Singletary stared at the two dismembered bodies that lay in the sand. The horror of seeing people die in front of him lay around his shoulders like a heavy, wet blanket.

  The group had gone out of the way to crawl cautiously and take the safest path upon entry to the compound. When it had become clear that the place was unmanned and no proximity alarms—that they could hear—had sounded, their painstakingly slow pace had relaxed ever so slightly. And the result were two more dead humans.

  Granno’s people had inadvertently discovered a network of cutting lasers patterning the ground just inside of a low concrete-style wall about twenty meters from the structure. After their choked screams faded, Brown had swore and leapt to the wall top, scanning the area before jumping as far he could. Thankfully, his range had exceeded the killing beam’s coverage area. The group now waited by the wall as Chandler and Brown nosed around in the structure.

  It was pitch-dark now, the middle of a warm and moist night. The sounds of the sea nearby did nothing to calm Singletary’s misgivings, however. He was concerned for the people, fearful that the Prax had been alarmed and might be bearing down on them even as they stood helplessly in the dunes. Singletary was ashamed of his fear. As he heard the humans around him stir quietly, he forced himself to remember that the people of Earth in this time were hardened, and if they felt fear they were either too tough or too tired to show it. Their sun-browned skin and hooded eyes under mops of stringy hair, combined with the general emaciation of the population that tended to blend the genders together, made them as a group very hard to read. Humans were a demoralized mob, yes, but when a few—like these—began to move with new purpose, the mob took on a determined sense that lifted the funk upon them all. Rebels.

  The light in one of the structures blinked several times through a window. Moments later a set of hidden exterior lights flared into brilliance, caused many in the group at the wall to shield their eyes, including Singletary.

  Vice-Captain Chen stood next to him. “I believe they have found something.”

  A voice boomed from the light. Chandler’s. “Okay, Terry, the defensive grid is off!”

  Chen looked at Singletary in the gloom. “Commander?”

  Singletary hesitated. He imagined the sight of the mutilated humans in the daylight. He imagined himself among them and cowered at the thought of it. I’m not ready to die. Not here. He had wanted so to try to return home, even if it was—.

  Chen had grasped his shoulder. “It’s all right, Commander.” The Chinese climbed onto the wall and shouted at the building. “Coming now, Commander!” Without further deliberation he jumped lightly into the area of sand where the bodies lay. Singletary’s breath shot of his lungs in concern.

  Chen began walking toward the building. Granno got to the top of the wall and began calling softly to his people.

  Chandler hollered again. “Terry! Get everyone moving our way!”

  They stepped gingerly over the killing area and jogged the last distance to the low-slung building. Chandler was waiting and motioned to them to follow. They passed between two textured walls that were rough against Singletary’s hand as he ran it along the surface out of curiosity.

  Chief Brown was framed in a doorway, arms crossed and clearly waiting for them. “Sir, all the indicators are dark now.”

  Chandler nodded, his face pale in the ghostly light emanating from the room. “Good. It’s hard to figure anything out in their language, and the colors seem all wrong from what we’re used to. But if we don’t see a sentry landing in the next few minutes, I think we’ve
done something right.” He looked up between the two buildings to where the sky was dark. “Best be ready for anything.”

  Chen fingered the trashed lock mechanism. “Did you?”

  Brown shrugged. “Let’s just say I took out some aggression on the door latch.”

  “I might have helped,” observed Chandler. “Shall we?”

  Chen ventured into the lit space as Brown stepped back inside. Granno followed. Singletary was about to do the same when Chandler barred his way and said softly, “Terry, why’d you let Chen go first? That was your order.”

  Singletary just stared at him, face suddenly reddening with heat.

  “Keep it together, Terry. I need you.” And then Chandler removed his arm and stepped into the room.

  Granno was pointing at a set of characters on the wall. “This is language of Prax.”

  Brown shrugged at the smaller man. “Figured.”

  “It says guard station. I’ve seen it many times in the city.”

  Brown turned away to study a bank of electronics. “Figured that, too.”

  “All right, Chief.” Chandler stepped up. “What are we looking at?”

  Brown waved a hand over a row of black-levered controls. “Some of this looks very old. Even for this future-stuff,” he made a face at Chandler. “My guess is that some of this is obsolete tech and this,” he moved his hand over another rack of equipment, “is the newer-installed stuff.”

  “We took a guess and threw these switches.” Chandler showed them a segment of the newer instrumentation that was marked with a yellow square around it. “Seemed like a perimeter control bank.”

  “It worked,” offered Brown.

  Arrie Hester called from the doorway. “Sirs, there is a landing pad in the center of this complex. Clearly marked. Lamb has got the locals out that way, resting against the wall of this structure.”

  Chandler looked over. “No signs of life, right?”

  “None, sir. Witmer and Morales are scouting the edges now…hopefully no more lasers.” Hester made to duck out but Chandler’s call stopped him.